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Saturday, 6 November 2010

IN THE WAR ZONE

No, this is not a review of the play by this name of my favourite playwright Eugene O'Neil. This has got much limited scope: the War Zone called Sector 20, Kharghar in Navi Mumbai. If you had similar war zones in your own neighbourhood during Diwali, I can only add a disclaimer, as is found before movies and books: ‘The resemblance is purely coincidental’.

Everyone’s been warning us that the Maoists are eyeing urban landscape for expanding their war against the state and its citizens. Little did we know that this war would come to us from unexpected quarters: revellers trying to celebrate a certain Ram having returned home safely. My take is that he was lucky he was exiled to the forests; if he was to be exiled to Sector 20, Kharghar, returning safe would have been a tougher challenge.

Initially, during the day, it started with sporadic firing of small arms but enough to make our dog Roger cringe and look for shelter. But soon the calibre of the weapons used increased in inverse proportion to the calibre of the users. By night, unguided missiles, heavy artillery, rockets and grenades had been brought out. The scenes of blood curdling warfare with unintelligible screams of “get them”, “bachne na paaye” (don’t let them get away), “aaj nahin chhodenge” (tonight we shall not leave them) filled the air. Soon, no place was safe for the enemy.

In a distant place called Guantanamo, American investigators used to disorient their prisoners by constant loud noises; so that finally the terrorists would own up their guilt or collusion. But, the kind of torture, Sector 20, Kharghar, subjected its inhabitants to would have put any Guantanamo to shame.

The technological excellence of the raids left us gaping. Like Iraq war, first the targets were softened by continuous aerial bombardment. Tracers were used to illuminate the targets and then it was tchak tchak tchak boom boom boom blast. The enemy could not be seen but must have been running for life. Flushing out operations were the hardest; boom, boom, tchak, bang, wroom.

Just as we thought there was a let up,the door to door fighting resumed with renewed zeal. Sounds of determined explosions continued the whole night. We were in our homes like people cowering in nuclear bunkers, expecting the worst.

At one stage, I ventured out like an intrepid war – journalist and tapped a combatant as young as 14 years old who was about to light up the fuse of serial bombs of a few hundred kilo-tons and asked him, “Beta yeh aap Ramji ke liye kar rahe ho?” (son, are you doing it for Lord Ram?) His reply was muffed in the blast of the explosions but I could understand the essential part of it: He was doing it for fellow combatant Ujjawal, who had taken a break to replenish ammunition from the nearest store.

Another one told me that life depended upon subjecting the enemy to continuous firepower; something similar to Basanti in Sholay: “Ab nacho; jab tak tere paer challenge, tere aashiq ki saans chalegi” (Now dance; as long as your feet run, so will the breath of life of your lover).

To give credit to these warriors, their devotion to duty was so complete that they continued relentlessly the whole night. Basanti would have given up long ago.

In the morning we were gratified to get the news that Sector 20 Kharghar had emerged the winner in urban guerrilla warfare. It had to face extremely tough competition but the young men of our neighbourhood had fought determinedly and without respite. We are going to honour them in a felicitation ceremony as soon as we have collected a billion old sandals and chappals, one each for the tchak tchak boom boom.

I saw a young warrior returning home at wee hours of the morning, rockets and missiles popping out from his back-pack, grime and grease on his face, and satisfaction of a job well-done. His only complaint was that victorious though he and his gang were, there was shame in returning home with unused ammunition. I assured him that life had not ended for him (even though it nearly ended for us) and that there would be a next time.

I went for a walk at the other end of the Central Park and found a few familiar mongrels. These gathered near a trash mound there and looked pretty inactive and morose. I told them that they did not have to come this far since Sector 20, Kharghar had adequate number of garbage dumps to welcome them. Their reply made me think highly of our young men’s commitment to their cause, “All very well for you to say so. Everyone in Sector 20 Kharghar is very cooperative in throwing garbage everywhere so that we can enjoy. But, last night we were out-manoeuvred by really heavy firing. On one hand you welcome us like proper Indians with trash everywhere. On the other hand, you slam the daylights and even nightlights out of us by war cries, explosions and blasts. You can continue to stay there because you have no choice; but, we will not return until peace prevails.”

Peace prevails? Lord Ram, you have returned after fourteen years of exile and we welcome you. But, tell us when will peace return to Sector 20, Kharghar?

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Holding the Mirror

I have done a long stint in the Indian Navy that lasted for nearly thirty seven years; I rose as far as my somewhat rebellious and irreverant nature allowed me to. On retirement, the first thing that occured to me, and those around me, was that I Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (you will find an article with this title in this blog) and hadn't lost all my noodles and hence thought of my blog This 'n That.

I detest treading the beaten track. This blog offers me to air 'another way' of looking at things. The idea is not just to entertain but also to bring about a change.

Impudent or otherwise, I have never been insousciant and I am always concerned about the betterment of community, nation and the world. I hope the visitors of this blog would be able to discern it.

Previews

Now that our Raksha Mantri (Defence Minister), Shri AK Antony, has, like all politicians before him and probably after him, shown aversion to talk to his service chiefs we need to examine why is it so. Even our bureaucrats are used to putting the uniformed personnel in their place. We have reached a situation in our country when the collective neglect, indifference and aversion of the government, administrative and police towards the armed forces has made this honourable profession one of the least attractive of all professions in India for the youth of the country. (Read more in 'Admiral and Mantri Ji' under the section 'In Lighter Vein')_____

I believe that it is not just 'we are what we think'; but, also, the universe is what we think it is. Surprised? Hogwash? We often refer to it as 'magic' or 'supernatural' what we cannot understand. Those who can let their imagination take wing can 'see' and 'hear' things better than others; something that we have called ESP (Extra Sensory Perception). So, in order to carry forward this argument, what if the saints and spiritual leaders before us had discovered that senses can get us only so far and no more; and that going beyond the senses may be the way to go. That is, the expression "are you out of your senses" may not descibe you as an idiot but as a great intellectual? (Read more in 'Being Non-Sensical May Be Far Sighted' under 'Philosophy' section)_______

Navy is a true international service; it is because most often than not it operates beyond 12 nautical miles of the coast and hence in international waters called the high seas. Our counterparts from the Army and the Air Force rarely leave the country whereas we do it on an everyday basis; in almost every sailing we leave the territorial limits of the country. (Read more in 'Foreign Jaunts' under 'Navy - Nostalgia')______

We don't have to go as far back as my grandparents times; if Valentine Day had to become popular during my dad's times, how would it have been? My dad died of an accident when he was just 56, one year younger than I am now. During his days, except for in movies, couples never publicly expressed love for each other. It would be indirectly hinted rather than 'in-your-face' proclamation. There were no Valentine Day cards or other accessories. (Read more in 'If Dad and Mom Had to Celebrate Valentine Day' in 'Life is like that')______

She loved him. He loved her. There was a thick white line between their ends of the court. The match started.

First, she held her breath, extended her arm and muttering ""Love, love, love.." went charging into his side of the court. If only she could touch him and return across the thick white line. (Read more in 'Love and Fencing' under 'Stories')______

They finally found him not in a cave in a mountain but in a huge mansion in Abbottabad, a few hundred metres away from Pak Military Academy. I was reminded of this scene in Mel Brooks' Silent Movie in which they are looking for Burt Reynold's house whilst standing in front of a huge mansion with a large sign atop the house with his name on it that even the blind would have had difficulty in missing. (Read more in 'Osama, Obama, O Mama' under Opinions)_____

South Bombay prided itself in having the finest of the theatres patronised by decent crowds; the type who would be aware as well as well mannered: Regal and Strand in Colaba, Eros at Church Gate, Metro at Dhobi Talao, New Empire, Liberty and Sterling and later New Excelsior near Flora Fountain. There was Akaashvaani near LIC Building and one could watch good repertoire of movies there devoted to a theme. (Read more in 'My Young Days of Watching Movies in South Bombay' under Music and Cinema)

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Sometimes I feel life is blaséAn alluring mirage that I chase.Sounds of fun and laughter areLike gunshotsPiercing through my heart. (Read more in 'If Only' under Poems and Limericks)

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How we admire the wisdom of those who come to us for advice! Indeed, some people are convinced that rendering advice is a fundamental right at par with such other rights as Right to Speech, Right to Religion, and Right to Property...(Read more in 'One Good Advice Deserves Another' under 'Humour')_________

Recently, when we watched the movie ‘3 Idiots’, we were entranced by the song ‘All Is Well’...(Read more in 'All Is Not Well' under 'Opinions')_________

The other day, a really dear friend came home to share the evening meal. The conversation drifted to the propensity of the senior hierarchy of the Navy to get entangled in trivial matters...(read more in 'During Our Days' under 'Navy - No One Asked Me But...')_________

No, this is not the end of radio communications; Roger is the name of our Labrador retriever. Like any retriever he is happiest when he is out...(Read more in 'Roger Out' under 'Humour')